


never let me go, never let me go

by craftingdead



Series: it’s sacrilege, sacrilege, sacrilege (you say!) [2]
Category: The Crafting Dead
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Heavy Angst, Implied Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Self-Sacrifice, Sorry folks!, if you've seen MCD you know why
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-09 12:23:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18638059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/craftingdead/pseuds/craftingdead
Summary: The town of Phoenix Held exhaled through their teeth that day and, well, held their breath throughout the night, a stiff and ominous cold settling over with the rise of the moon.Lights were extinguished and guards were posted, patrolling over towers and through and out of entrances in a schedule, eyes alert and watching. The sea lapped at the sand, rocking the boats gently. In the houses, large, towering over the hill, and small, wooden and lined up and down the stone and gravel roads and surrounded by large trees on every side.The crops swayed and crickets chirped and birds sang, fluttering from tree to roof to tree again. The wind sighed as it traversed its way through the stalks, not bothering the small bugs clinging to the surface, ladybugs and butterflies and bees flying around, stuck in place.They didn't know.





	never let me go, never let me go

The town of Phoenix Held exhaled through their teeth that day and, well, held their breath throughout the night, a stiff and ominous cold settling over with the rise of the moon.

Lights were extinguished and guards were posted, patrolling over towers and through and out of entrances in a schedule, eyes alert and watching. The sea lapped at the sand, rocking the boats gently. In the houses, large, towering over the hill, and small, wooden and lined up and down the stone and gravel roads and surrounded by large trees on every side.

The crops swayed and crickets chirped and birds sang, fluttering from tree to roof to tree again. The wind sighed as it traversed its way through the stalks, not bothering the small bugs clinging to the surface, ladybugs and butterflies and bees flying around, stuck in place.

Few people were still up; Westly, who had arrived the day earlier, still grieving over the death of his son; Shelby, thinking back to her days as a juror, under Red’s rule, regretting everything—and everyone; Jess, practicing her witchcraft long into the night, as always, trying to perfect the perfect spell or potion. (Just in case we ever need it, she told herself, you can never be too careful, as she got back up, looked at the scorches on her wall, and tried again.)

And deep, deep into the forest, lead to by gravel and never seen before gems studded into the ground, things that looked like gold and rubies but weren’t, puffs of white smoke coming off of them and disappearing before they reached the sky, loomed the portal to the Anika Dimension, named after the Saint Anika all those years ago.

Tall pillars stretching out from the ground, quartz roots embedded stretching precious roots deep into the ground. The entire area gave off a glow of hearth, a welcoming, but intoxicating feel. The space right in the portal was warped, shifting and flowing and changing the backdrop with the turn of the hours; a faint chime in tune with it. And as the clock struck midnight, it shifted again, this time to a blazing fortress of deep red stone, lava dripping off the surface. A sword was flung at the surface and the apparition shattered into glass pieces, scattered across the ground before they were absorbed with puffs of the same white smoke.

And, with that, it waited again. Until the clock chimed again, into the early AM, so it could share some other secluded, hidden part of their world. (Or, others, if the portal was feeling particularly mischievous.)

A man looked up as it struck midnight, hearing the small clock in the house he was in chime softly, before going quiet again. Then, shaking off the jitters that the noise gave him, he continued searching.

The boxes were all stacked neatly, all in rows, so it was hard for him to look in one without knocking over another. He almost knocked over an entire row, stacked to the ceiling, when he tripped over a dip in the floor. He managed to hold them steady before everything fell and ruined his plans, though, and was much more careful after that.

He gritted his teeth as he went through his sixth box, looking back at the two sleeping forms on the bed behind him. “Why does Nick have to be so good at hiding things?” he muttered to himself and shook his head.

There were only two more boxes to go through; it had to be in one of them. He carefully put the one in his hands to the side and nudged the second-to-last box towards him, then, stretching out, he got the last one off the top of the stack, propped up on top of a high shelf. If the Fragment was anywhere, it had to be in one of those.

The second-to-last box held nothing—literally, nothing was in it, so he looked hopefully towards the last box. A quick search showed that it also held nothing—this time, of use.

Ghetto growled to himself quietly as he pushed them away. He really, really, really didn’t want to have to search Nick’s form. That would be sure to wake him up. He should’ve checked to see where he hid that fucking Fragment earlier.

Nick sighed softly in his sleep, and Ghetto looked toward him desperately. Please, please be just in his pocket, he thought. Or maybe under the pillow or the mattress. Please, Nick, make this easy for me. He took a cautious step forward, and Jordan snorted in his sleep, moving his head over to the right, facing Nick.

Fuck. If Jordan woke up crying, that would wake up half the village. “God, Jordan, bud, please make this easy for me,” he whispered, praying that the baby could somehow hear him, telepathically or something, and understand the desperation in his voice.

He took another step forward, and a loud creak echoed through the house. Ghetto stopped in his tracks, gaping at the floor, then quickly looking up to see if it woke up either Nick or Jordan. Neither of them stirred—the only thing of them that was moving was the soft rise and fall of their chests and the smallest of twitches from Jordan.

Ghetto looked down to the spot. The… the wood on it had slid forward a little way, opening a small crack in it. He squinted down at it, confused. Then, he squatted down and, praying it wouldn’t make any more noise, slid the hole all the way open.

In it was a small, velvet, drawstring bag. He picked it up carefully and could feel the pulsing through the bag. Hopefully, he opened it and dumped the contents into his hand and—fuck yes, it was the Fragment! “Nick, you smart bastard,” he said, looking up at the roof right above it, which had a small crack in, letting moonlight shine through—right onto the spot where the bag had been. “You beautiful and genius bastard, no one would have suspected it was in the floor!” He laughed, quietly, to himself, probably sounding like some madman. Then he stopped when Jordan snorted in his sleep again.

He quickly put the bag back where it was, slid the floor back into place, and held the Fragment in his hands, testing the weight between both of them.

It was warm, like water at body temperature, feeling like it was floating in his hand instead of resting in the crook of his palm. It pulsed softly, sending hot flashes down his arms at a steady pace, but that didn’t bother him—the cold night made it not as bad. The shine radiating off it was like its own flashlight, illuminating everything in a wide circle around him.

And, with that, Ghetto slid it into his pocket. It emitted a faint glow even then, a light coming from his pant pocket and would attract attention if anyone was to see him. Well, Ghetto thought, I’ll just make sure that nobody sees me.

Then, slowly, he began to approach the bed.

Nick was on the right, arms spread out with the sheets barely reaching the curve of his stomach, shirt riding up just a little bit from movement in his sleep and the rest dropping off the edge. With amusement, Ghetto noted that he had fallen asleep in his normal clothes; must’ve been telling Jordan a story. For once in his life, he looked at peace, face neutral and hair falling into his face and brushing against his cheek with every small gust of the wind. The window was open, and he was shivering.

Ghetto shut and locked the window quietly. Then, he grabbed the edge of the sheets and pulled them the rest of the way over Nick’s body. And then, for extra measure, he grabbed one of the blankets stacked in one of the boxes and layered that across his body as well. Within seconds, his shivering had stopped.

Jordan was sprawled out in a very similar way to Nick, his tiny body not even taking up a quarter of the bed. He snored quietly, tucked in with several blankets both wrapped around his body and tucked underneath his head. Nick must have done it.

Ghetto watched them warmly, wishing he could have been there with them, Nick against his side and Jordan tucked into the crook of his arm. Wished he could’ve been there to experience Jordan’s first birthday, and then second, and then third, but what must be done must be done. He shook those thoughts from his head.

But… they both looked so peaceful. So content, so happy. He wanted to wake up Nick and told him how he felt, hold him close, apologize for every thinking that what he was planning on doing and say it would never happen again. Ever.

He dug his nails into his palm and shut his eyes tight. Then opened them again. Ghetto almost did it, too, after leaning down and adjusting Jordan’s blanket so it wasn’t as tight. He circled around the bed to stand at Nick’s side, staring down at him with thoughts of regret and betrayal crossing his mind. Nick would be furious when he woke up and found both the Fragment and Ghetto done. He would feel betrayed. He would feel heartbroken.

With a shaky breath, Ghetto inhaled and exhaled. He brushed the hair out of Nick’s face, and thought back to the time, with brush in his hand, when Nick had gone on and on about how annoying it was to deal with the tangles after he slept on it.

Ghetto rolled his eyes down at him and smiled. “Idiot,” he said softly, Nick doing the one thing he complained about all the time.

Then, not bothering about whether or not he would wake up, Ghetto leaned down and kissed him softly. The Fragment gave off another pulse and as he pulled away, a jolt ran up his spine. Nick didn’t stir; he just sighed again.

(He remembered finding Jordan. He remembered teaching him how to fight the best he could, Nick always scowling in the cute way he did when Ghetto got the better of him. He remembered picnics, Jordan in his arms and Nick laughing as he smeared food all over his face. He remembered skin-against-skin, the warm fire and Nick’s sighs, his cries, his moans—)

He turned and walked towards the door. If Ghetto didn’t do this now, he wouldn’t do it at all. He fished the Fragment out of his pocket one last time, to make sure it was the real thing, not just Nick trying to fool anyone who tried to take it, and the shine didn’t lie. He stored it away again.

Just as he put his hand on the doorknob, a voice called out from behind him: “Daddy?”

Ghetto turned to see Jordan sitting up on the bed, blinking at him curiously. He, carefully, took his hand off the doorknob and walked towards the kid. “Shh,” he said, softly, as Jordan opened his arms up towards him. He nodded towards Nick. “He’ll take care of you. I promise. Just go back to bed.”

He got Jordan settled again and kissed him gently on the forehead, before going out the door, turning back one last time to look longingly at the sight of Jordan and Nick. Then, he bowed his head, sighed, and shut the door.

The walk out to the forest was a long one, avoiding people out for a late night walk or practicing their skills or whatever they were doing. Once he got out to the forest, though, it was much easier, so he could stick to the path without being seen easily. Gold veins ran through the gravel and made way to rubies, to gold, all sticking out and glittering in the ground. But Ghetto knew, that if he tried to pry them out, they’d be stuck in the ground, impossible to move. Puffs of white smoke clouded his vision and he flipped his hood over his head and, eventually, pulled out his bandana and layered it over his nose.

The Anika Portal stood tall in front of him. Over fourteen feet tall, he wasn’t even half the size of it, despite being well over six-two. It groaned and pulled at him, urging him forward, forcing his feet to move even closer. He resisted the pull, and, instead, fished out the Fragment.

And, with his other hand, from his other pocket, he fished out the… other thing, necessary for what he was going to do. And Ghetto approached the portal, both of them in his pocket, as they began to shine. The portal did too, the air around it moving faster and faster until his vision was blurred, gold and red veins winding up and down the pillars and glowing even brighter, stealing the breath from his throat and choking him. And, with both of the objects still in hand, he fought against the scream of the wind and forced his way through the portal, warm light enveloping him.

In the Anika Dimension, Sky fell back with a thud, sliding a few inches across the marble floor, sword feet behind him. As he pushed himself up, the point of a sword was forcefully pushed against the soft skin of his neck, making him lean back so it wouldn’t force its way through his neck.

Red towered over him, black and red particles shaking around him. Anytime one of them got too close to Sky, he would start coughing, having to bat it away or be forced to stay still as his eyes watered terribly. Red’s corrupted form laughed, taller than he thought possible and tattered and dirty, clothes red and white and blinding with the combined backdrop of the Dimension.

He bared his teeth in a snarl, black eyes staring down at him, unblinking, unmoving. Sky shivered as he then grinned slowly, moving the tip of his sword away from his neck and allowing Sky to collapse back, shaking, the particles floating around him and burning at the touch. “Goodbye, ‘Endless Soul,” he mocked, invoking the name he held as a previous juror in Red’s twisted, now corrupted Jury of Nine.

As his sword raised high above his head, Sky shut his eyes tight, already feeling it piercing through his skin and heart. “I’m sorry, Nick,” he whispered under his breath as there was a swish through the air and his sword came hurtling down.

In a flash, there was an even louder sound of a sword being unsheathed, and it echoed through the marble halls as a form raced towards them and met Red’s sword with his own, emerald one. They met with a loud sound of metal against metal, a horrible grating noise that hurt both Sky and Ghetto’s ears alike.

“WHAT?” Red yelled, pushing against him as hard as he could. Ghetto wouldn’t budge, sticking his feet in place and pushing even harder back. Red took a few steps backward, snarling again, then stopped as he noticed the device in Ghetto’s other hand, light inside starting to circle brighter and faster and brighter and faster as they stood there, swords at each other’s necks. “What the—! How did you get—!”

The floors started to crack forth, Sky scrambling back to grab his sword. He lost his footing immediately afterward, crumbling to the ground and almost impaling himself on the sword he had just grabbed. He looked towards the floor, spreading apart at the seams, and gasped.

Red stumbled back as the walls started to shake violently, his corrupted form collapsing in on itself and turning him back normal, back to his regular size, the particles falling to the ground and getting sucked up by the Dimension’s power. He glared absolute daggers at Ghetto, screaming at him about something that couldn’t be heard over the thunder of the cracking filled the air.

Ghetto set his feet, sword in front of him, in case he needed to defend Sky in the time it took for the Dimension to crack apart. The object shined bright in his other hand, turning all the bright whites and golds and yellows of the area, the bright purples and yellows and browns of Sky’s outfit and appearance, the red and the blue of Red’s hair and eyes, and the green of Ghetto’s sword, of his bandana, the brown of his skin, into one faded monochrome. Everything darkened, the pillars around them cracking apart and screaming into the air as Red looked up, his relic having fallen out of his hands and onto the falling floor.

And with the horrible sound of glass breaking, everything fell apart. Ghetto’s stomach was in his throat as he fell, pillars falling around him and both Sky and Red screaming in surprise as everything they knew was torn apart, the scream of what sounded like the Saint Anika herself echoing through the air as the Dimension was ripped apart, grabbed roughly at the seams and pulled into a single thread, letting everything fall apart and collapse into pieces. He kept the relic held tightly in one hand, his sword in the other, holding them close to his self as they fell into a black void, marble pieces falling with them and warping the air around them as they fell, tearing rips that they traveled through before shutting roughly, being sewn back together by whatever shaky hand was desperately trying to keep Anika’s realm together.

And everything came back as they landed, grass stained with shards underneath their feet. The pillar was shaking the ground around them, an Earthquake ripping through it and making trees wail and shake.

Red was nearer to the portal, leaning over with a foot back to prop himself up. He had his sword in his hand, his pale skin fully back from the pure white of his corrupted form, electric blue eyes pupil’s so thin they looked like they barely existed anymore. He looked absolutely furious, teeth bared and eyes wide and wild.

Directly across from him stood Sky, holding his arms close to his chest. His sword was out of his hands, scattered somewhere on the ground behind him. His armor was torn in places, his yellow cape a tattered mess. But he looked… for once in his life, for the worst situation he would ever be in for the rest of his life, he looked happy. He looked ecstatic to be back in the real world, on real grass and at a real night and not surrounded by a prison of looming marble pillars.

Ghetto sprinted across the grass, ripping his bandana from his face and letting it fluttered back towards Sky, his hood falling off in the process.

He roughly grabbed Red by the front of his shirt and lifted him up into the air, Red’s sword falling to the ground as he did. Ghetto slipped his foot underneath it and kicked it out into the grass, the tip slicing through strands of grass and leaving a scorch mark where it landed, wilting a flower on the spot.

Red laughed maniacally, not scared by the look Ghetto was giving him, nor the broadsword in his other hand. “Come to get revenge?” he snarled, a dirty grin on his face as he stared down at Ghetto, not bothering to fight back against him.

“No.” Ghetto let his sword drop to the ground and then pulled the Fragment back out, letting it glow in his hands. It looked shattered, the edges of it fraying and sending off smoke and sparks, burning his hand a good deal, but he just gripped it tighter and felt the sharp ends dig into his hand, cutting it deep and drawing blood.

And, for once in his life, Red looked scared. “How—when did you find—” he yelled out as it shined brighter and brighter, letting out a deafening, crunching noise as it began to implode on itself, radiating outwards brighter and brighter and brighter until Ghetto couldn’t see the whites of Red’s eyes. “You idiot! You’ll kill us both!” he screamed as the Fragment sent off sparks, smoke, anything and everything it could produce, getting even brighter still. He clawed at Ghetto’s hands, trying to pry his grip free, trying to get away.

Ghetto bowed his head. “ _Good._ ”

Red screamed as the Fragment erupted, tearing a hole into the air in front of him, Red’s chest. He could feel the same thing being done to him, a harsh burning sensation where his chest was, and light swirled around him as it pierced his skin. His last thoughts were remembering the sound of Nick’s laugh, that time he accidentally tripped during practice. “You idiot,” he teased, offering a hand out to him and smiling gently. As Ghetto batted him away, muttering something about how he could get himself up, he laughed again, full and happy. And Nick’s laugh was the last thing he heard as everything in his vision went to a scorching white and exploded outward.

* * *

Nick felt the entire tree shake as he took a step backward, a loud explosion ringing in his ears. Shelby looked around frantically, yelling out swear words as Nick replied with a, “What the?” and the people around him mimicked with similar words.

“THAT SOUNDED LIKE IT CAME FROM THE REFUGEE CAME?!” Tommy yelled, his hands over his ears as he looked that direction. And the more Nick thought of it, the more it was true. It _did_ come from that direction.

“Come on, let’s go!” Shelby slid from her bed and took off, Tommy hot on her heels. Nick couldn’t even cry after her how she was injured, how she shouldn’t be running in her condition, before giving up and going after the two of them.

Other people were running that was too as Nick landed on the ground, sprinting after Shelby and Tommy, on the way there, Gray joined them, looking wide-eyed and confused. He sped forward, passing Nick, catching up with Shelby and Tommy. (Nick had to stop and catch his breath, even a single breathtaking up energy. What was wrong with him? He hadn’t been like this before, he thought he was in shape?)

When Nick reached the area, he was met with many different things: People in a wide arc, gasping and crying over something in the distance. That thing turned out to be a huge crater, spanning out feet from used to be where the Anika Portal was located. Several fires burned in it, against it, sending the tree surrounding it up in flames. It was at least thirty feet deep, a steep and jagged drop into the middle. But what surprised him most was not the people or the crater. What surprised him most was the person standing at the edge of it.

“Sky!” he cried out, and sprinted through the crowd of people, throwing himself at the man. Sky caught him by his arms, croaking out Nick’s name as they hugged, tightly, enough so Nick could make sure that he was real, he was actually here.

“I’ve missed you so much!” he cried, pulling away. “How in the name of—how in—how did you even get out of there? With Red still there? And, and how did you—”

Nick stopped, looking down towards his hand. Wrapped around it, fully intact, the fabric slightly dirty, was a green bandana. Ghetto’s green bandana. “S-Sky?” Nick asked. “H-how did you get that bandana? That’s…”

Both Ghetto’s and Red’s swords were apart of the wreckage, both in the crater: Ghetto’s, closer to them, on its side, and Red’s buried deep into the stone closer to the middle.

“Nick,” Sky sniffed, handing over the bandana to him. “I’m so _sorry._ ”

Nick held it in his hand, breath hitching as the realization came over him. He made a few, stuttering sounds, going over it in his hands. His stuttering turned to soft whimpering as he gripped it tighter, a feeling like grief coming over him, stronger than he’d ever felt before. His vision was tinted black, Sky reaching out for him gently, and as the clock struck one, Nick fell to his knees, bandana in hand, and screamed.


End file.
